


An incomplete experiment

by tallpaleandanxious



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/M, Feat mordin being his extremely bonkers self and shepard being exhausted, Holy moly it is fun to write from mordins pov., PTSD (Implied), asexual Shepard, some descriptions of violence but it's not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallpaleandanxious/pseuds/tallpaleandanxious
Summary: A late night, and an early morning gives Mordin some time to reflect on his changing relationship with Shepard, and all that that entails.
Relationships: Female Shepard/Mordin Solus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	An incomplete experiment

It is inexplicable, thinks Mordin. Not for the first time, as he takes in the form of one human female, first name Claire, last name Shepard, currently curled up beneath the sheets. His sheets. His bed. Inexplicable that she would be here with him. Close enough that he can see the scars criss-crossing her bare shoulder where it peeks out from the covers. Old patterns of old wounds left too jagged to heal. Nasty. The work of a clearly unskilled surgeon. Can see her hands, usually tensed around a trigger, now resting relaxed and slack mere inches from his.

He has seen her unconscious before of course, she has ended up on his examination table more than once, but this is an altogether different set of parameters. Untested. New. Interesting. Truth be told it’s not a sight he'd ever thought would cross his eyes. Never entertained the possibility. Never wished for it either. Not when the universe was so full of problems. The sick need healers. The armies need soldiers. The wars need peace. So many problems. So many solutions. So much to do! Difficult to be bored when the sea of what could be is so much deeper than the sea of what is.

Until one of the things that could be had confronted him in his clinic three years ago. She had offered him a job. A good Job. Expensive equipment. Limitless funding. Very nice lab. Diverse crew. Surprisingly tolerant attitude to non-humans. Rewarding work. Hadn’t been treated this well since the STG. Usually his employers paid him to work not to talk. Not caring much about him beyond securing their next vaccine, or gene re-sequencing treatment, or high grade explosives or whatever it was they had hired him for, not that he minded. Science demanded attention, there was no place for distracting chit chat during brain surgery. But a little company now and then is useful. A chance to let the mind rest. Get a second opinion. Share jokes. Not that he had many.

So it was pleasant to find that the captain took time to talk to him. She was interested in his work. Asked a lot of questions. Some people only listen to reply but Shepard did not do this. Instead she learned. Processed. Then asked more questions. They argued a little in those early days. Mordin was sure that Shepard was weighing him up. Trying to decide how far the boundary between madness and eccentricity could be pushed. Further than he expected it turned out, as when he asked her to help him rescue Maelon she gave her word that she would, and kept it. Going so far as to save him even from Mordin himself, when he had held a gun to his head. There was an uneasy truce between them after that, which grew into a feeble, new-born trust.

She began to visit his lab more frequently. To listen to his prattle about this or that experiment, while she caught up on her never ending pile of paperwork. Said it helped her think. That it was preferable to the corporate sterility of her quarters. Understandable, humans are a social species, large periods of isolation would have a negative impact on productivity. But it was puzzling, when there were so many other people she could be spending time with. One explanation was obvious. Had to be confronted before it became awkward. So he did next time she came in, Coffee and pad in hand, dark circles under her eyes. She never slept as much as she should. Tried to be tactful. Careful to explain that to relieve stress by seeking Sex was perfectly normal coping mechanism, just not possible with him. But insisted if ever intending to try human would try her. Had been the truth. Was Interested in Shepard. Just not on those terms. 

She was intelligent. Good mind for science. Better mind for combat. Hated war but understood its necessity. Hated to kill but designed to be a weapon. Gentle. Loving. But like all the best chemical reactions, could become volatile if shaken. Observant. Always gathered appropriate information before proposing a hypothesis, but stubborn in her own opinions. Always full of contradictions. Suspect he could observe her for a lifetime and never fully understand her. Wanted to try anyway.

She left in a hurry. Not surprising. No way to make such discussions completely comfortable. He expected to see little of her after that, but the next day she came back. Had reassured him then. Said he had nothing to worry about. She wasn't interested in Sex either. With him. With anyone. Not all humans were. But she still cared about him. Still liked him in a way that meant friendship wasn't quite sufficient anymore. Mordin had been speechless then for once. He hadn’t ever considered that such relationships could exist. Or that if they did, anyone would want to engage in one with him. Seemed too unlikely. Salarian cross species relations are such an uncommon occurrence. Not genetically compatible. And their famously low libido and intensely ritualized system of conducting relations tends to put off the more adventurous types. Not worth the effort. Not when there is a whole galaxy of willing individuals from which to choose a partner, any of whom would be more suitable than an asexual, ex-soldier come scientist with a penchant for committing war crimes. There wasn't any precedent for it. It was completely new territory. Much potential for study. He would never get such an opportunity again. 

And he was _interested_ in Commander Shepard...

But he didn't know how. Didn't even have the vocabulary to write a paper about it.

So she lent him the word. Adjusted it's taxonomy to fit a new definition, so that it meant her hand squeezing his on the edge of the battlefield. The two of them sitting back to back in the lab late at night, as they talked about ethics and scientific exploration and their shared pasts as soldiers, and the smell of tea and the weight of her as she wept in his arms. She never kissed him. Not unless he asked. Knew it made him uncomfortable. So instead he rested his forehead against hers. A Salarian gesture, but she seemed to appreciate it all the same. They seldom shared a bed either, Salarians didn't need much sleep, but he would sometimes insist they rest together. She had nightmares often. Woke up screaming. A common reaction to past trauma. His presence Best treatment. Observed she was calmer with him there. She would be. Humans were designed to sleep within the protection of a pack. 

Glad he could help her.

Glad it made a difference.

Even if it was only temporary.

It had to be. 

He was old. Not by human terms. Not in ways that she would notice, by the way he bounded about the lab, still enthusiastic as in his student days, but he was. Could feel it in his bones. Could see it in his face. In the wrinkles traced through his skin like drying rivers in the desert soil. A natural effect, caused by a reduced production of collagen. His body was slowly, gracefully, breaking down. This would be his last mission. One way or the other. But it was not sad. Had been an interesting life. Had done much. Saved many. Killed a few too. Made mistakes. Learned from them. Made a difference in the universe. All things die, it should not be sad to end with such a list of accomplishments.

But it was. Regret. Not a useful emotion. But still felt it. Still Wished he had met her sooner, wished he had more time.

He was a doctor. It was his duty to heal not cause harm, if it could be prevented, and here he was knowingly doing something that could only ever end one way. Shepard said it didn't matter. Told him every time the crew stepped off the ship they risked never coming home. No one knew how long they had left. Best just to be thankful for the time they still had. A sound argument, one based in fact, but she was underestimating her own abilities to survive. Most probable she would outlive him. Observed her deal with loss before. Bore it well, for the sake of the crew. But grief can never be erased, only tolerated. His death would be another source of trauma. Why put herself at risk so willingly, when there were so many other options for companionship available to her. 

Ah! Maybe a bond...made from shared experience? 

They had much in common, Humans and salarians. Both members of fragile species. Both weak compared to others. Both relied on intelligence and strategy to survive. As individuals, both have made decisions that, while the best course of action at the time, had unforeseen negative effects. No strangers to feelings of guilt. Hubris. Regret. Both have the paid price. Lost limbs. Lost lives. Lost innocence. She comforted him, even as he stood over the bodies that had been killed by a virus he developed. Had put a hand on his cheek even though she disagreed with his actions. She did not forgive. Still held him accountable for past mistakes, but she understood. 

Understood that it is hard to see the bigger picture when there is a pile of corpses in front of you.

Big numbers are Impersonal. Can be treated like equation. Just another problem to be solved, until that number has a face. Until forced to look the dead in the eye. Not easy. Hate to see it. Waste of life. But good, to be reminded that every action has reaction, every solution has its consequences. Shepard knew this. Was herself the victim of it. Had been rebuilt because of someone else's decision, her destiny predetermined by an algorithm, but unlike him she could not question it. She was a leader, and with leadership all must have confidence in your decisions. No room for doubt. No room for introspection. 

Not like science. Science is impersonal too. Demands separation of emotion from fact, but still plenty of room for thought. For questioning the ifs and hows and whys. Demands calm. Patience. Time. Good for the mind. Provides an anchor for spiraling thoughts. Maybe good for Shepard, when she carried such a heavy burden. Beneficial for her perhaps, to be around an aging scientist who could distill the chaos into neat little test tubes. Good for him too. To explore a facet of life he had so long thought closed to him. There were well documented benefits from the regular tactile stimulus of touch. Releases endorphins. Improves mood. Lowers heart rate. Increases lifespan. Emotional stresses also are reduced. When two people develop a bond, pathways are re-written in the brain, to better share experiences. Empathy. Pain is felt less when it is shared. Pleasure given new meaning.

And always she challenged him. Never let him reason his way out of a dilemma. Never let him grow complacent in his justifications. Always assumed he was a better person than he was, then demanded he lift himself up when he fell short of it. She would not let him kill Maelon, because she knew he was not a murderer. She would not let him forget about the genophage because she knew he would not let the Krogen suffer. Because to be good is not something you are, it is something you must choose. Over and over. Every day that you are living. Shepard always believed he would make the right choice. 

He did not want to prove her wrong. 

Mordin got out of bed, stretched, and dressed himself carefully. He sighed as his armor clicked into place, concealing his fragile body. So much engineering. A careful balancing act just to keep him upright. He looked over his shoulder just before he left. At the human shaped lump in the sheets. At the mop of dark hair fringed blue by the strip lights above.

She would sleep for another 4 hours, five if she didn't have any more nightmares. No reason for him to stay. There was a fresh batch of samples waiting in the lab. 

But there was also Shepard. Safe and at peace. A rare sight, and he was still alive to see it.

Gently he padded across the floor and with long ceramic fingers brushed the hair from her face, and kissed her, just once, on the top of the head. Smooth synthetic skin against thin lips. It was an entirely platonic gesture, protective, affectionate, save for the hand that lingered on Shepard’s bare shoulder, as though his touch could somehow erase the scars. She stirred when he pulled away but didn't wake. A smile at the edges of her lips. He had done many experiments throughout his short life, but this was by far his favorite.

Perhaps, one day, in different circumstances, a different lifetime…He would be able to repeat it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Been watching a lot of mass effect playthroughs lately, and I have developed a lot of love for a certain morally grey Salarian mad scientist.   
> His arc was perhaps one of the most complex, and one of the most tragic. My only regret was that he was never dateable. He and Shepard have a lot in common in many ways, and I can see how they might help each other become better people over time, making his eventual sacrifice hit all the harder.  
> (Plus it would have added some much needed ace rep to the game.)  
>    
> Now I'm going to listen to that clip of him singing Gilbert and Sullivan again.
> 
> Cheerio :)


End file.
